


One Hand in My Pocket

by hopeless_eccentric



Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [16]
Category: The Penumbra Podcast
Genre: Aliases, Canon Non-Binary Character, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Heist, Humor, Knives, Nonbinary Juno Steel, Nureyev's Pockets as a Plot Point, Other, catch me using shakespeare aliases again, juno's embarrassing thing for nureyev's teeth, not gonna lie i laughed my ass off editing this, nureyev has a shoe knife. and a corset knife. and a leg knife., nureyev hides tiny tiny knives in weird places and has to unload them
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-18
Updated: 2020-10-18
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:55:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27073087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hopeless_eccentric/pseuds/hopeless_eccentric
Summary: The first few weapons, a series of knives and plasmacutters and the occasional blaster or two, came out of fairly obvious places. Most were strapped on the inside of his coat, while a couple hid in his shoe. The most outrageous place any weapon seemed to hide was along the inside of his corset.“Why the hell do you have that many?” Juno sputtered.“It pays well to be prepared, darling,” Nureyev shrugged, plunging a hand down his shirt and retrieving another knife from somewhere Juno couldn’t see.“Does it pay to be that prepared?”Free commission for @k9cat on tumblr!!
Relationships: Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel
Series: (Free! That's right! Free!) Penumbra Commissions [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1921492
Comments: 46
Kudos: 177





	One Hand in My Pocket

**Author's Note:**

> ok minimal content warnings on this one it's mostly humor
> 
> Content warnings for knives/guns, food mention

There was a certain duality to the word ‘lady.’ On the one hand, the word implied the kind of grace of the dusted gold along Juno’s cheekbone, like the anointing oils of a coronation. On the other hand, it was, for lack of a better word, quite yellable.

Juno found himself straddling the two meanings in the line for just another gala he was meant to rob. He was wrapped in the kind of gown he had only imagined wearing when he was younger, a sea of pale blue and silver, as if the feathers from a bird’s wings against a clear autumn sky had been woven into a shade of fabric. He was also loudly complaining. 

“How long is this line gonna take?” He groaned. 

“Patience, darling,” the man who called himself Orsino King, but wore a look so fond it could only have belonged to Peter Nureyev, said. 

“I’ll be patient when I goddamn wanna be patient,” Juno grumbled.

“I should warn you,” Nureyev began, leaning over so his words might fall mere inches from Juno’s ear. “You should, perhaps, elect to be patient around this quantity of security.”

Nureyev let out a low chuckle, as if his words had been something a little too personal for the crowded line into the gala. Juno didn’t know why the sound was enough to fluster him, though the insinuation that Peter would have been whispering sweet and private things into his ear in such a space might have been enough by itself. 

“Speaking of which,” he cut off Nureyev’s victorious grin before the sight of those teeth could entirely undo his focus. “Where the hell did all this security come from?”

“I don’t know,” Peter admitted. “And I must say, I thoroughly dislike not knowing.”

His words remained low and private, and even if his tone was confessional, his lips had pulled their way into a rouged smile, as sharp as it was lovely. Juno would have given anything to be through the doors of the gala already, if just to have an excuse to play married for a little while, rather than merely married and stuck in a line. Domestic felicity was much harder to emulate when Nureyev had no way of sweeping him off his feet. 

That wasn’t for lack of trying, however. Peter pressed the occasional kiss to the back of one of Juno’s gloved hands and loudly professed his affections for his wife, one Olivia King, while Juno tried not to melt into a puddle on the spot. 

Nureyev didn’t take kindly to being bored. He was clearly trying to entertain himself, and he found a flustered Juno a very entertaining one. As much as his eyes roved over the security and the long and winding line ahead of them, they spent just as much time on the dip of Juno’s collarbone. They slid down the slit in his gown as if it were a rope, only ceasing in their languid path to meet Juno’s own glaring expression. 

Those eyes weren’t the only distraction Nureyev provided. The event had required formality, which Buddy tended to take care of with her sized and selected costumes. However, Juno was nearly positive Nureyev had some say in his, for Buddy by herself would never approve something that could be so detrimental to the heist. 

Nureyev said he was armed, but Juno genuinely had no idea how. Every seam of his outfit was tailored to the quarter inch, while little was left to the imagination between the corset and the rest of something that seemed purposefully, artfully, and torturously tight, though not to the wearer. Juno was pretty certain Nureyev had dressed with the sole intent of making him drop dead on the spot before they even passed through security. 

“Juno,” he heard Nureyev begin, words soft, yet still stony in sudden worry. “Do you remember anything in Buddy’s debriefing about a security outlet?”

“All I saw on the plans were a couple of guards and a camera or two,” Juno hissed back. 

“And that bar above the door—”

“A scanner,” Juno confirmed, watching in real time as Nureyev stomached the information with an uncomfortable swallow. “How much heat are you packing?”

“An unfortunate amount,” Nureyev winced. 

“Why don’t I bitch and moan and say I know the host if they give you too much hell?” Juno offered, pairing his words with a slight squeeze to Peter’s hand. He managed a smile when the disagreeing fabrics of their gloves let out a squeak. 

“My dearest, I would hate to make you go to the trouble,” Nureyev began. “Besides, these poor workers signed up for no such thing.”

“Have you met socialites?” Juno snorted. “It’ll be the nicest thing that happens to them all evening. Besides, I’ll only make a stink if they do. You don’t have that much room to hide stuff anyway.”

Peter opened his mouth to reply, but closed it, for the front of the line, and subsequently, a security guard had come into sight. 

“Step right through, ma’am,” he said flatly, as if already exhausted after less than a half hour of dealing with the specific breed of entitled person that this kind of gala attracted. 

Juno nodded and did as he was told, with no secrets to hide but a blaster concealed in a false medical device strapped onto his leg. He got no more than the questions he was prepared to answer and reeled off nothing more than his prepared script in response. 

Nureyev pressed a kiss to the back of Juno’s hand as he tarried through the scanner and onto the other side of the gala’s entryway, as if they were fated lovers parted by war, rather than career criminals separated by three feet. Juno felt his face split into a heady grin nonetheless.

That grin faded when Nureyev stepped into the scanner with a preemptive wince. The scanner sputtered out a series of noises while Juno slapped a hand over his mouth to cover a laugh at Peter’s miffed expression. He looked less like an armed thief stuck in a scanner than he did a cat caught in a rainstorm. 

“Sir, I’m gonna have to ask you to empty your pockets,” the world-weary guard sighed, holding out a tray. “Once you’re done, you can come pick everything up, but the lady of the house says she doesn’t want anything coming in unless it’s medical.”

Nureyev huffed, jaw set as he reached a gloved hand into each of his front pockets. 

Juno felt his eyes widen at the fact that he had never seen anything within them before. Each pocket produced a few rings, a handful of spare containers of makeup and hotel-brand hand creams. Juno had no idea at what point those might have ended up in Peter’s pockets, but he felt it best not to ask, especially not in front of a guard who walked a gradually blurring line between shocked and exhausted. 

Nureyev wasn’t done, however, merely tilting up his chin with insistent pride when he reached into his back pockets. 

Juno wasn’t sure how a sandwich got in there, but he decided he probably didn’t want to know. The first of a few weapons, a small utility plasmacutter, emerged in this round of removal. The guard seemed more surprised by the sandwich than the pocket blowtorch, two additional knives, sewing kit, packaging peanuts, and hard boiled egg that followed. 

Peter, on the other hand, kept his posture alike to a king posing for a portrait. He held every strange object produced from his pockets like a ball and sceptre, and when the guard looked upon him once more, he curled his lip. 

“May I step through the scanner now?” 

The guard choked on his words, merely nodding. 

Nureyev stepped forward, though the scanner screamed once more. 

“Where the hell are you—” Juno began to sputter.

“Sir, if you’re concealing anything anywhere else, I’m afraid we’re going to have to pat you down,” the guard grimaced, clearly feeling the dozens of eyes from the held-up line boring holes into him. 

“I don’t see why such a thing should be necessary,” Nureyev smiled tersely. “I’ll remove anything else, if you’re so worried.”

The first few weapons, a series of knives and plasmacutters and the occasional blaster or two, came out of fairly obvious places. Most were strapped on the inside of his coat, while a couple hid in his shoe. The most outrageous place any weapon seemed to hide was along the inside of his corset. 

“You’ll have to tighten it for me later, love,” he winked at Juno when the shellshocked guard took the six inch blade from his hands. 

“Why the hell do you have that many?” Juno sputtered. 

“It pays well to be prepared, darling,” Nureyev shrugged, plunging a hand down his shirt and retrieving another knife from somewhere Juno couldn’t see. 

“Does it pay to be that prepared?”

“Give me one moment, my dearest, I’ll be done soon,” Peter brushed him off with a chuckle. 

Nureyev kicked a leg up upon the guard’s table. Juno made a quick mental note to watch Peter’s actions, rather than lose himself in the curve of his calf or the sharp, blood red heel of his shoe. However, it was hard to admire any part of his partner when he busied himself with a switch on the back of his shoe, at which point a uselessly tiny knife flew out from a compartment along the bottom. 

“Why would you ever need that?” Juno groaned. 

“It pays well—”

“I don’t care how well it pays, have you ever actually used that?” Juno huffed. 

Nureyev waved him off while he dealt with the other shoe the same way. 

“Is that all, sir?” the pale-faced guard choked out. 

“I believe so, unless I’m forgetting one,” Nureyev returned, face genuinely thoughtful. “Let me check.”

He took a step forward into the machine, which let out a weak wheeze of a beep. Juno wasn’t sure if Nureyev had forgotten a final knife or if the scanner had finally admitted defeat until Peter’s face lit up with realization. 

“Oh, dearest me, it seems I’ve forgotten,” he realized, breaking off to shove a hand into his pants. 

“Orsino, what the hell—” Juno cried in an octave he had never reached before. 

“Aha!” Nureyev beamed when somehow, he retrieved a sword half as long as he was tall from the inner leg of his pants. 

“We’re getting a divorce,” Juno groaned into his hands when Nureyev passed through the scanner without issue. 

“At least wait until after the gala to break my heart, darling,” Peter grinned upon returning to his side. 

Even glaring, Juno took his arm when offered, unable to help a surprised smile when Nureyev leaned over to kiss his cheek. 

“What are you gonna do, threaten me with a sword?” Juno snorted, pausing their waltzing walk onto the dance floor to pull Nureyev to the side and fix where his clothing had been pushed astray. 

“I was thinking I might offer you the egg in solace,” Nureyev joked, though his smile was more domestic than teasing when Juno fixed the buttons on his shirt with unwavering hands and an even more unwavering glare. 

“Yeah, speaking of which—”

“Allow me to remain a man of mystery, my love,” Peter chuckled. 

Juno opened his mouth for a sharp reply, but Nureyev had stolen one of his hands away from his collar to press a kiss to the knuckles. Juno felt his glare falter in response to a soft and glowing look from his partner, as if Juno’s hand had been the one to make and shape all things bright and beautiful within the world. 

Juno groaned. 

“You’re so hard to stay mad at.”

**Author's Note:**

> i want knife shoes
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!! Make sure to SMASH that kudos button and leave a comment down below or I'll give you an egg
> 
> Find me on tumblr @hopeless-eccentric or on twitter @withane22 !! I am still taking free commissions, so if you're interested, check those placed out!!


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